


Blood Ties

by saraid



Series: Panther Tales [5]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Panther & Chief are attacked, and Mike learns something that shocks him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Ties

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains some non-sexual voyeurism.

*******

"Yes, they have been there before, at least twice that I know of." nodding, the movement tight and nervous, Greg pushed the folder he was holding into the grasping hands of the man that stood before him. "Everything you need is there. Remember -- you are only to wound him. Its the only way I can test them. I *need* to know what is really between them; how much of their strength the younger one is. How well he can operate separately from the older."

"When do I get paid?" a shrug to show that he didn't care why the man was doing this.

"Half now, half when it's done. Come back next week. You know I will be here."

Glancing around the luxurious home, Hik nodded. This guy wasn't going anywhere. He might be obsessed, but he was wealthy and established and it just so happened that Hik was interested in his obsession.

This job could be his step up. There was an elite cadre of assassins working the globe today, and entry into that rarified field was hard to find. Killing paid more than fighting.

If he could track and shoot Panther -- one of the best-known and most elusive mercenaries in history -- his reputation would be set.

And then maybe he could get a chance. Someone would see the fire in his eyes and hire him to kill someone else, and pay him lots of money to do it.

That would be so cool.

* * * * * * *

"Do you think she'll be home?" snugging his partner closer to his side, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist and the other resting casually in his coat pocket, inches from the gun in the shoulder holster, the man called Panther scanned the street they were walking. It was a small, sleepy town, known for the peacefulness of its citizens and certainly not for attracting international mercenaries. Or hitmen.

A shrug answered him. His partner pressed closer to his body. A hand gripped Panther's black sweater, the other gripped the hand that held him at the waist.

"She's forgiven you, caro. She knows it wasn't your fault. Now, me...she believes I'm the devil himself. I got you into this."

A snort refuted that statement.

"Well, she's never *going* to understand, exactly." Panther dropped a kiss to the top of Chief's head. "She's been happy here, and that's a good thing."

Easing oh-so-carefully back in his seat, Hikaru Ford brought his palm-sized binoculars to his eyes again. Electronic, they enlarged images seen as far as two miles away.

There they were. Just walking down the street, like a couple of normal people.

Seeing the tender kiss, he grimaced. Not normal though, not hardly.

His hand drifted to the seat beside him, and caressed the black steel length of the gun. Equipped with the latest invisible laser-sight, it was sleek and deadly and beautiful. The best gun he had ever owned. In his heart it would never compare to that first .38 he had bought when he was ten -- that little gun had been his best friend, had given him food and strength and eventually a way of life. But there was no denying that this gun was a thousand times more beautiful, and infinitely more deadly.

It had cost him almost his entire cut of the emeralds Panther had retrieved.

The irony of that suited him, because he was not a stupid man. Uneducated, yes.

But never stupid.

The pair he was watching had stopped to wait for a light so they could cross the street. They were talking again, he wished briefly that he could hear them. Listening equipment would be his next major purchase.

"I know she's probably not home, Chief, It would be nice if we could just call. But she did email you last week on the protected account, so we know she's fine...she's your mom, caro, you have to talk to her once in a while. I don't mind that she hates me. She *loves* you, more than anyone ever could. Yes, even me, caro. Even me."

The light changed. Lifting the weapon from the seat, Hik scrunched down and pulled the modified sunglasses down from the top of his head. Fitted with electronic screens, they would allow him to see the narrow beam of light that would be invisible to normal eyes as it played over its target...

Stepping into the street, Panther glanced down at his partner. The one-inch circle of light dancing over Chief's chest, faintly blue, seared his eyes as he reacted with shock.

"Chief!" the shout was torn from his mouth as he shoved his partner to the side, knocking him to the ground, staring in disbelief as the light wavered, flitting around, and then settled to rest like a butterfly on his own torso. Knowing he was about to be shot, knowing there was nothing he could do about it, he followed the beam line-of-sight and focused his eyes in on the small black car parked nearly two miles away, straight up the block.

Feeling eyes on him, seeing Panther staring directly at him, even from this distance, Hik recalled everything he had heard about this man, and spared a half-second to shiver.

Then he pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped through him. Holding himself upright by force of will, Panther wrapped an arm around his open belly, trying vainly to keep his entrails from spilling forth. But the damage was too great, the front of his abdomen had practically dissolved under the force.

He felt himself falling, and crawled, with tremendous effort, toward his partner, who was lying prone on the ground, glasses knocked off his face, revealing wide, panic-stricken eyes and desperate features. Chief was frozen in shock, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

Watching, wanting to be sure the ambulance arrived in time, Hik stared, goggle-eyed, when Panther reached over with one blood-dripping hand and caressed Chief's face.

Then he closed that hand on that pretty face and lifted it, slamming the back of Chief's head into the pavement with shocking violence.

The act seemed to drain the last of his strength and he collapsed, hand still splayed over Chief's slack features.

"Damn, I wish I'd gotten that on tape." Hik whispered to himself. Carefully tucking the gun into the concealed space beneath the floorboard of the car, he started the engine and pulled onto the street. Sirens were already sounding, not too far away. This town had a very good trauma center, patients were lifted by helicopter from miles around, they were set up for farming accidents and car crashes...but they didn't see many shootings.

He meant to be at the hospital before them. Actually had an appointment scheduled. Had been there last week, in fact, to have some tests run...and to set the tiny camera into place.

Today he would activate it.

* * * * * * *

The two gurneys were brought in fast, an EMT sitting atop the first one, literally holding the guy's stomach together with his gloved hands as blood poured out of him as fast as they pumped it in. Another women squeezed the bag that was hung above him, forcing the red fluid into his veins. The wheels left a trail through the red stream that flowed beneath it, and the men pushing the second one splashed through it uncaring.

"Gunshot wound to the abdomen, already given three pints of o-negative, massive internal bleeding..."

"I've already paged OR, get him up there STAT!" emerging from her spot behind the tall counter, Susan Jones moved with purpose. She didn't hurry, didn't rush, but managed to move faster than anyone else there.

The first gurney disappeared into the express elevator, the blood trail cutting off abruptly when the door closed.

"What's wrong with him?" she fell into pace beside the second one, checking the face of the young man lying still and pale on it. It was smeared with blood, but his vital signs were strong. Her eyes were caught by the thick rope of hair that lay by his side.

"Mild contusion to the back of the head causing unconsciousness." the taller of the two men reported. "Witnesses say the other guy did it to him after he was shot."

"That's interesting. I don't like his color, there may be more going on here than meets the eye. Let's get him into an exam room and check him out."

"You got it. We were kindof preoccupied by the other one..."

The trauma room was filled with people. all joining together to move the young man to the bed, careful not to tug on the amazing hair, and then Jones took his head and checked his pupils with a small light-pointer.

"I'm not getting any response, we need to schedule a CAT and get a neurologist down here."

"There are no other injuries." the EMT insisted. "We checked him over completely."

Watching as the young nurse cut off the blood-soaked jeans and layers of shirts, Jones wasn't surprised to see that the man was even thinner than the first impression.

That and the white hair made her more curious than she would have normally been.

It was obvious he wasn't past thirty -- how did his hair get that way?

"This guy is sick. I don't know what with, but we better take extra sterile precautions -"

Her words were cut off when the head she was still holding jerked. The eyes flew wide open, the blankness in them frightening, and the mouth opened to peal out a wail. It was so harsh, so strangled and brutal that it could barely be called human.

With a convulsive movement that proved him stronger than he looked, the half-naked young man lurched from her grasp and off the table, falling to the floor.

The noise continued unabated, the shrieking, screaming panic of it digging deep into the souls of those present and freezing them momentarily in shock.

People appeared at the door, a crowd, drawn by the horrific sound. The sight of their gawking faces started Jones out of her shock and she dropped to the floor beside the patient, automatically reaching for him, trying to offer comfort in her touch. As soon as her hand met skin he stiffened and the shrieks went up an unbelievable octave in pitch, threatening the glass in the room.

"Get them out of here!" she shouted, voice low to cut through the razor-edged screaming. Both of the EMTs, currently backing out of the room, turned and began driving the astonished crowd before them.

"Get back, get back, give them room, give them privacy, get back to work, go back to the waiting room..."

Thinking he was only frightened, her quick mind beginning to put together the pieces that she had so far, Susan tried to draw the young man into an embrace. He responded by fighting her, still screaming, she could feel her ears throbbing under the assault of sound. Desperately he fought, pulled free from her, crawled under the bed and kept going, hitting arms and legs, scrambling, heading straight for the far wall, lined with metal cabinets that held a variety of things that wouldn't be pleasant if they fell on him.

"Stop him!" Leaping to her feet, Jones saw one of the orderlies make a grab, but the patient chose that moment to gain his feet, staggering, arms spread wide, flailing.

The screams trailed off as he managed to find his balance and stood, arms still waving, swaying dangerously.

"He's blind." Jones said softly, coming around the table. "Move slowly, speak to him gently."

The others all looked at each and nodded, surprised that they hadn't seen it themselves. Another doctor stepped into the room, her boss, the attending physician.

"Dr. Jones, you seem to have a problem. Is it under control?"

She nodded, moving closer to the swaying figure. He was reduced to moans now; low, pitiful sounds of pain and fear.

"Yes, Paul. He's blind, and I'm not sure he can speak. This must be terrifying for him."

"His friend is in surgery. They're giving him a fifty-fifty chance."

"That's better than I would have expected." she took a step closer and a shudder ran through the thin frame.

The young man raised a hand and touched his eyes, elegant fingers tracing them delicately.

"Could the blindness be a result of the head injury? He seems almost surprised by it." a nurse offered.

Biting deeply into his lower lip, the patient got his emotions under control, and the sudden silence was overwhelming.

Stepping closer, Susan spoke quietly, gently.

"Sir? You're in a hospital. You've been hurt. Your friend is being taken care of. We'd like to take care of you." he flinched at the words and didn't reply.

"We know you can't see...can you hear us? Can you talk to us?"

Tears filled the blank blue eyes and they closed, making the liquid run down his face, picking up a pinkish tinge by the time it fell from his chin.

"Can you hear me? Can you nod and show me that you hear me?"

The slender hands closed into fists and he drew his arms in, wrapping them around himself. A shudder passed through him and a new sound, a deeper moan, reverberating with anguish, spilled from his lips.

"I know you're frightened. I know you're hurting. Show me that you can hear me." speaking as gently as she could, but loudly enough that he would be able to hear her clearly, if he could hear, Susan took a step closer. Watching as he curled further into himself, she paused.

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

Finally, a sign. His head came up and those blind eyes turned toward her, slightly to his side. Behind him Paul White was preparing a syringe with sedative, gesturing at Susan to continue. She frowned but did.

"Nod if you can hear me."

He did, a deliberate movement of his head. The blood-sticky hair swung.

"Good. You can hear me. Can you talk to me?"

The eyes closed and another horrible moan escaped those full lips.

"Okay. It's okay." she soothed, moving closer. "Get someone in here who signs," she said quietly over her shoulder.

"Rafferty does, I'll get him." the younger nurse said, sprinting out the door.

Jones racked her brain. Blind-and-mute, he would sign, wouldn't he? Helen Keller had, that was all she could think of. There had to be someone, some way to communicate with the terribly frightened young man.

"We're going to find someone you can talk to, okay?"

He shook his head, little drops of thickened blood flying. The moans returned and threatened to rise.

"It will be okay. You're going to be fine, your friend is in surgery, he's receiving the best of care..." thinking that would reassure him, she was horrified when the sounds doubled and then trebled, until he was once again shrieking. Reaching out, she touched his shoulder, meaning to comfort him, but the noise reached ear-shattering levels. He yanked himself away from her, staggering sideways into the nearest cabinet, falling against it heavily, pushing it to the floor with a resounding crash, instruments scattering with ringing sounds.

"No, no, don't hurt yourself!" following him, Susan shoved Paul back, not wanting this man sedated before they could get more information from him.

The sounds that issued from him were incredibly inhuman now. She would never have thought such a noise could come from a person. Frantically he worked his way along the wall, knocking things down as he went, searching, she guessed, for the door, which was blocked by two large orderlies.

"Hold him!" Paul shouted and both men grabbed the small, vulnerable patient.

Susan shouted.

"Paul, NO!" but he ignored her and straddled the twisting, writhing, screeching form.

In minutes the drug took effect and he lay still, sprawled bonelessly. Paul stood and gestured at the orderly to get him back onto the table.

"You didn't have to do that." Susan objected quietly.

"What if he had internal injuries? A concussion? What were you going to do, Jones, follow him around the hospital speaking gently?" he dismissed her with a derisive snort. "Treat your patient, I've got paperwork to do. And, Susan?"

Meeting his eyes reluctantly, acknowledging the truth of his words, she sighed at the sternness of his face. An easy-going man, Dr. White did not like his orders or his methods questioned.

"I want him in restraints. Get him a private room and tie him down. Next time he might hurt himself or someone else. Maybe even you. We have no proof this man is sane."

"Yes, Doctor." she said, almost soft enough to be called a whisper.

A complete examination soon revealed no further injury. But when he was stripped, groin covered with a sheet, everyone in the room stopped at least once to stare at the scars that patterned the thin torso. There were more, on the wrists and ankles, and even some on the neck and shoulders.

"He's not had an easy life." the male med student said in his Irish lilt.

"No, it certainly doesn't look like it." Susan agreed absently, her fingers toying with the piece of steel welded around a thin wrist. I wonder what this is?"

"The other guy had one. I saw it when I was pushing the bed." the older female nurse volunteered.

"Perhaps they're a couple."

"Or brothers."

With a sharp gesture Susan put a stop to the speculation.

"I don't think he's completely under. Let's try to keep it down, okay?"

They all watched the body shiver as she ran a hand down his abdomen, checking for tautness that would indicate internal bleeding. His blood pressure was good, so that wasn't likely.

She had them turn him over and checked his back and legs, hands passing blithely over his ass, where several dark purple bruises were evident.

"I think we can guess how he got those." the Irishman chuckled, breaking the tension.

"I sure hope so, I don't think I've ever seen a prettier man." the nurse added her thoughts and they all breathed a sigh of relief as the worst of the adrenaline passed.

Noting other signs that indicated that the man was probably an active homosexual, Susan had him turned again and took a minute to study the slack face.

She had been too busy, too worried to notice earlier, but he was definitely a *very* pretty man. Bordering on beautiful.

What had she thought he was only in his late twenties? He clearly appeared at least thirty-five now.

It must have been the excitement and the fear contorting his features. She hadn't got a good look before.

"Let's get him to a room, he's fighting the sedative." she said, waving an orderly with a gurney in.

 

"We can't keep putting him under. It's going to kill him!" hours later Jones shouted at Paul as the older doctor came into the room. She was off-duty but staying with this patient on her own time. "Paul, that's three doses. Any more and we're risking brain damage."

"What should I do, let him keep screaming like that? Psych isn't going to take him until we have him stabilized from the concussion." tapping the syringe, he moved closer to the bed. Somehow the patient was aware of his movement and his thrashing and screaming increased. His wrists were bleeding even in the padded restraints, it was clear he would hurt himself if he continued like this.

"They found a card on the other man, they've been calling the name on it every fifteen minutes." desperate, she stepped between him and the bed. "Dr. Warner says it's some big shot in the government, the ex-director of the CIA."

"Susan, the man is blind, he's obviously not a spy." exasperated, he stepped back. "I'll give you another hour to make contact with him, and then I'm going to put him under again."

"What if it takes longer than that?"

"Then I'll have to -- look at him! *Look*, Susan. He's nuts. I don't know where this soft spot for psychotics came from, but get rid of it now!"

Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the room, leaving her alone with the screaming patient.

Sitting again in the chair beside the bed, Susan Jones leaned over it, careful not to touch him -- she'd quickly figured out that that made things worse -- and spoke quietly, hoping to reach him before Paul returned.

"It's okay. You're safe. No one here is going to hurt you..." the scars on his wrists and ankles led her to believe that he had been tied down before, making this all the more terrifying for him.

* * * * * * *

"I have to go." Mike Cullen hung up the phone with the strangest look on his face. Emily was just putting dinner on the table, and his son, here for a quick visit, glanced at him in surprise.

"Dad?"

"I have a couple of friends - they need my help. I can't tell you where I'm going or when I'll be back."

"Oh, no." Emily rolled her eyes. "Here he goes, thinking he's Jack Ryan again."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have to do this." he spoke as she followed him into the bedroom, pulling his gym bag out of the closet and handing it to him wordlessly.

"I know you do. I thought this was finished, Mike. I thought you were done with all of this."

"It isn't work. It's personal. These men are - special."

"The personal file. Ah." she sighed. Caught putting boxers into the bag, he stared at her for a long minute.

"Emily?"

"Don't worry, dear, I would never read your files. But sometimes you mumble about it when you talk in your sleep."

"Spies don't talk in their sleep, dear." he grinned briefly, offering the old private joke.

"How would you know? Are you a spy?" she teased back.

Zipping the bag shut, he pulled her in for a kiss that held far more passion than their nearly sixty-year-old bodies should allow.

"I'll call you as soon as I can."

"Be safe."

With a cuff for his son, he left, striding out the front door, cellphone in hand, already making arrangements, planning things out. Two John Does at a small Midwestern hospital, fitting the description of Panther and Chief. He had to stop the hospital before it put their pictures out over the police system, trying to identify them....or that town would become assassin central. Every low-life looking to make a name for himself who had the vaguest idea who these guys were would show up, loaded for bear.

"I need to speak to the president." he said, starting his car. He'd already arranged for the IBM jet he used to be fueled and waiting for him. It would be a two-hour flight, maximum, and then a helicopter from the airport. Speed was more important here than stealth.

Panther was critically wounded. What the hell was happening to Chief?

A vivid memory flashed into his head -- Chief being pulled from Panther at the airport, screaming and fighting, the way he had staggered and how lost they had *both* been.

Panther's roar of anguished fury.

"Anderson? You owe me a favor and I'm calling it in. Yes, it's personal. Yes, it has to do with Panther and Chief. No, I'm not going to tell you where they are. If you want to keep me as a friend, you'll do what I ask."

Anderson had become even slimier in the year since he had first met the mercenary pair and the words practically choked Cullen when he said them. But he would do anything, say anything, to protect those two men.

Both of them. His love for Chief was as strong as what he felt for his own children and his admiration for Panther equal to what he'd felt for any man.

Both of them had to survive, or neither would.

Getting Anderson's promise, he hung up and drove faster.

* * * * * * *

The screaming reached his ears as soon as the elevator doors open. Recognizing the harsh, hoarse, broken and desperate voice, he ran down the hall, knocking into a nurse and sending her flying, not even apologizing.

Skidding to a halt inside the room, the door banging shut behind him, he gasped and then bit down on his reaction.

Chief was on the bed, in restraints, wearing only a hospital gown that twisted with the force of his writhing, revealing his nakedness beneath. Head thrown back, mouth wide open, he was making that heart-wrenching noise Cullen had heard once before.

There was a young woman, pretty, black, in a lab coat, standing by the bed, bending over him, speaking urgently, and a male doctor on the other side trying to hold down an arm so he could give him an injection.

"*NO*!!" shoving the doctor aside, Mike leaned over the bed and pushed her away too. "Stay *away* from him!"

"Security!" the doctor yelled, and an orderly appeared at the door. He'd been chasing Cullen since he knocked down the nurse.

"I'm Mike Cullen, you've been instructed to give me full cooperation!" he snapped out, using a tone of authority most people would find hard to disobey.

"I don't care who you are, this is my patient!" gaining his feet, the doctor glared at him. "Get him out of here."

"I'll have you arrested faster than you can blink." Mike switched his attention to the big orderly.

The man looked from the doctor to Mike, and held up his hands.

"I read the memo, doc. You're supposed to do what he says."

Breathing a sigh of relief -- Anderson had come through -- Mike waved a hand toward the door.

"Get out of here, all of you."

The young woman took several steps back, but didn't leave as the other two did.

"Can I stay? I was really worried about him. I told Paul to quit sedating him..."

Mike glanced at her and then shrugged. She'd seen enough now, and he might need someone to run errands.

"Just keep away until I get him calmed down, okay?"

Nodding, she went and closed the door behind Paul's retreating back, then turned and leaned on it, crossing her arms over her chest and watching, her dark eyes filled with hoped.

Although the first thing he wanted to do was yank off the restraints, Mike was unsure how Chief would react to that. Better to get him quiet first. The noise had continued unabated during the confrontation, although it was so hoarse now that he could hear the pain of abused tissues through it.

"Chief." he tapped the bracelet on the nearest wrist. "Chief. It's Mike Cullen. Look at me. I'm here to help you."

She started when he said 'look at me'. How could he be their friend if he didn't know?

His eyes met hers, a brief hint of confusion at her reaction crossing his bland features.

"What happened to his partner? How is he?"

"He's been in recovery for nearly two hours. They can't say yet what the final prognosis is, but he's apparently very strong and healthy and he withstood the surgery itself very well."

"Good." he switched his attention back to the smaller man, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed and brushing his hand just over the tangled hair. The thrashing had pulled most of it from the braid he usually kept it in. Cullen's fingers didn't actually touch it, just the air above it.

"Chief. Panther is alive. He's in recovery, fighting to stay with you. You need to relax, Chief, calm down so I can take you to him. Chief. It's okay. I'm here, you're safe now, no one is going to get through me to hurt you. Remember me, Chief? Mike Cullen. We met at the White House, you helped us find that missing baby? She liked you a lot, that baby did...."

The words continued, spoken gently, soothingly, as if he were talking to a hurt, frightened child. It occurred to Susan that the man might be retarded as well as blind and mute.

What a horrible way to live.

"Shhh. There. It's okay. Breath deeply...I'm here and I'll protect you. Did I tell you that I read that last paper you wrote? It was really interesting, and insightful. Not my field, though..."

The screams were actually dropping in volume, but Susan couldn't tell if that was because he was just losing his voice or if he was actually calming. But the thin body on the bed was relaxing as well, the twisting and thrashing slowing until he was only working his wrists against the restraints.

"There we go." Mile said quietly. "Is that better? Are you okay now? I'm going to untie you...I have to touch you, Chief, but remember, this is me, this is Mike Cullen, and touching me doesn't hurt you..."

The body stiffened and stayed taut while he stripped the velcro restraints off and then lurched upwards, reaching blindly for him.

Mike gathered the thin body close, not caring that he was naked, and held him tightly as great gulping sobs began to work their way past his defenses. He petted the tangled, filthy hair, and crooned just as he had to his own children.

He had held his daughter like this once, when she had lost her first baby. Four months into the pregnancy something had gone wrong -- they'd never known what -- and she had refused to talk to anyone about it. Even after they got her home, her husband away, doing a tour of duty in Iraq after the gulf war, she had refused to even speak about it.

Then, one night, he had come home late to find her going through the chest of drawers they had filled with baby clothes, in the room that had been her childhood bedroom. He had led her away, sat down on the bed beside her, and the floodgates had opened.

Now he held this broken young man and rocked him as he had held and rocked his own child in her darkest hour.

It took a long time. Susan was afraid the man was going to make himself sick.

He cried so deeply, with such suffering, that sympathetic tears filled her eyes, and those of the man holding him.

Finally it was over. The sobs tapered off to whimpers, which became gasps.

Drained, the patient slumped in the man's arms, fighting to breathe.

"Here." she went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water, handing it to him.

His nod thanked her, but the patient shuddered and stiffened in his arms, trying to draw away weakly.

"It's okay, it's just a nurse, no one is going to hurt you here..." Cullen soothed, shifting Chief around so he could gently bathe the pale face, swollen and still dotted with flakes of Panther's blood. "Can you talk to me now?"

A nod surprised her and she stepped closer. Mike threw her a warning look and she stepped back, feeling oddly disgruntled at being left out.

"Are you hurt anywhere? I see your wrists are bleeding. Is anything else hurt?"

"n-n-noo..." the raspy, cracked whisper made Susan jump and stare.

"If this nice nurse-"

"I'm a doctor." she interjected with a frown.

"Nice *doctor* would get me some supplies I'll clean those cuts and wrap them, okay, Chief?"

"y-yes. T-thank you, m-m-m-mi*k*e." the emphasis on the last consonant proved how hard he was struggling to get the words out.

"You don't have to talk." Cullen assured him. "I'm here and you're safe, you don't have to talk for me."

A nod, eyes closed tight, face pressed to his chest. Cullen remembered seeing him seeking comfort from Panther just like this.

And he remembered the beautiful smile, the cheerful rocking as he stood in a White House briefing room and ate an egg sandwich, lighting up the room despite himself.

"It's going to be okay. I'll take care of both of you, as long as I have to." he promised quietly.

The supplies were brought and he doctored the wrists, where the raw patches were slowly oozing blood and clear fluid. Susan introduced herself and hovered during the operation.

"We need to get him into the same room as his partner. Can you arrange that?" he asked, becoming aware that the body he was holding was shivering. Always cold to the touch, Chief was losing body heat fast now. "And bring me some warmed blankets. They use them in delivery, right?"

"Yes, sir." she said it sarcastically, but left to do his bidding, disliking his attitude but admitting that he was the only one who could help this man now.

"n-n-eee...n-need..c-c-*clothes*." Chief begged softly, the cracking voice making the words hard to understand.

"Yes, you like to be dressed, don't you. Especially in a place like this, I can understand that." Cullen reached and buzzed for a nurse. When she arrived he offered her his wallet.

"Call the nearest store and have them deliver some sweats, black, medium sized, and a couple of black t-shirts."

"Excuse me?" her stare was hostile.

"Please. He needs some clothes and I can't get him any right now." he shrugged, his armful of shivering Chief adding weight to his words. "Offer them whatever they want to deliver them in the next half-hour."

"My sister works at the department store downtown. I'll ask her." she smiled suddenly. "He looks much better. We're all glad you got him to stop screaming."

"Yes, he's going to be fine. Oh, and add a hairbrush, one of those spiky kind, and something to hold it when I get it brushed, please."

"I know the kind you mean." she left, most of his cash clutched in her hand, and he rocked Chief some more.

When the younger man pulled back and reached a tentative hand to touch Cullen's face, the older man almost flinched back, but held steady. His muddy brown eyes searched the blue ones before him, seeing the dullness and noting the fact that they weren't even focused on him, looking at his chest instead.

Dear God.

It had never occurred to him. He'd never suspected, although there had been clues...clearing his throat, he tried to speak and the words stuck, and then he tried again.

"Chief...can you see me? Are you *blind*?"

The eyes closed, lids drifting down like butterfly wings.

"Yeah." a tiny whisper of sound.

"How...how do you - do what you do?" Cullen had seen this man get around, find his own way, even when he was apart from panther.

"I use *his* eyes." it was cryptic and explained nothing. But the doctor came back with the blankets before he could ask anything else and Mike wrapped Chief in them loosely, knowing that he didn't like tight. She handed him a steaming cup.

"What is it?"

"Chicken soup. It will help warm him up. He's probably suffering from delayed shock."

"No, he can't drink that. He's a vegetarian. It would make him sick after so many years."

The words seemed to relax her slightly, for some reason.

"I'll get some hot chocolate instead. I've called upstairs and they're moving his partner to a bigger room so we can put them together."

"Good. I don't suppose there's a bed big enough for them to share?"

Her grimace as she left the room demonstrated what she thought of that idea but he had no way to tell if it was reaction to the gay thing or just general-doctor objections to patients sleeping in the same bed.

Chief was still shivering in his arms. In fact, it was getting stronger.

"You're a mess." Cullen said conversationally. "Why don't we get you into a hot shower and cleaned up? I can help you if you can't manage it by yourself."

A nod answered that, and then the younger man began to unwind his body from Cullen. The older man smiled, he hadn't realized how tightly they were twined together. Standing, he led Chief into the bathroom and started the water for him, untying the tight knots of the strings that held the gown together. Remarkably comfortable nude, Chief climbed in on his own and held out a hand. Cullen dropped the shampoo bottle into it.

"Shampoo." he said, just to be on the safe side.

Chief nodded and began to get himself clean.

An hour later he was tucked back up in the bed, Cullen beside him, one slender hand resting on the older man's thigh. Dressed in warm sweats over a couple of t-shirts, he was beginning to look warm, but still shivered intermittently.

At last Susan returned with the cocoa and a wheelchair.

"We can take him up now. His partner is still listed as critical, but maybe having him there will help. He hasn't regained consciousness from the surgery yet."

* * * * * * *

The small noise would have been missed by Cullen, but Chief sat up suddenly and leaned over the edge of his bed, which had been pushed close to Panther's.

"Is he waking up?" Mike asked, standing and leaning over the other side.

"Yesss...there he is." with those words strength visibly flowed into the smaller body. He hitched himself to the floor, not staggering or swaying, and crawled onto the bed beside Panther, right over the rail.

The strong arms wrapped around him even before the eyes opened all the way.

Mike made a quick grab and loosened the IV line from the bed so it didn't get pulled out, glad there was some slack looped through the rail.

"Chief?" the whisper was hoarse. "Are you okay?"

Closing his blind eyes, the younger man just snuggled close and sighed.

"*Awh*, *yeah*." Panther groaned. "You're *back*."

Cullen stared.

It wasn't flowing or beautiful. They looked tense and awkward and uncomfortable, scrunched together in the bed like that, odd with Panther in a hospital gown and Chief in the black sweats, his bare feet hanging off the side.

But happiness radiated from them. Joy and thankfulness.

And then gratitude, as Panther looked up at him.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." the older man said sincerely.

Not long after he regained consciousness Panther gave Mike a number to call.

"Just tell him where we are and someone will come to get us."

"You can't go anywhere in your condition."

A muffled noise from Chief interrupted them. With his hand cupping the stubbled chin Panther tilted the pretty face upwards.

"What? You want me to tell him?" he waited, Mike watching, comfortable now with these one-sided exchanges. "You think we can trust him that far."

A nod, and those eyes opened. Mike released a gasp as they sought for his and focused on them, shining bright.

With intelligence and vision and light.

He could see again.

"He called the president to help us. So hey know where we are, and he told them."

Biting back an objection, Cullen waited for the conversation to end.

"Alright, then. This one is your call, you know him better than I do. Better than anyone does."

"Tell him." the cracked words fell harshly on sensitive ears.

"When we get there." Panther said softly. He could barely raise his own head, so Chief moved to press his lips to Panther's. "I promise, caro."

Cullen made the call.

Hours later a private ambulance arrived, and another doctor, a Native American who didn't introduce himself. He fussed at Panther and Chief, teased Chief with an ease Mike was envious of, and filled out all the forms in minutes, getting them on their way.

"Where are we going?" Mike asked, sitting in the back with him. They had simply draped Chief over Panther's body and covered them both with a blanket to protect them as they left the hospital, which wasn't very happy with the situation.

Susan Jones, in particular, had demanded answers. Answers that she hadn't been given, although Mike had heard Panther assuring Chief that they would send her flowers and let her know they were okay later.

"Call me Dan." the doctor said. "I'm their private physician."

"Used to b-be a coroner." Panther's voice choked with pain as they hit a pothole.

"So I'll still be your doctor when you're dead." the man retorted. Panther had refused an stronger pain medication and he hadn't even argued.

Chief was asleep, curled close to Panther as Mike had seen him so many times.

"How far are we going?"

"About ten hours." Dan said. "I have a phone if you need to make a call."

He'd left the rental car at the hospital, he could have them pick it up at any time since he'd paid for a week. And leaving it there might help confuse anyone who might try to track him. He wouldn't put it past his son.

"I should call home." he said, and pulled out his own phone.

"No." Dan said. "Use ours. It's satellite bounced, can't be traced."

Grudgingly Mike put away his own phone and accepted the one handed back through the window in the back of the cab. There was a woman driving, someone he didn't recognize, of course. She looked younger than Panther, but old enough to be a sister.

Cullen called home and then Dan suggested he move to the cab and get some rest. Knowing it was going to be a long trip and wanting to be rested when they got there, he did so.

They stopped several times in the night, for coffee and food and once Mike joined Dan in carefully helping Chief from the truck, holding him while he urinated and Dan took care of Panther. The older man was tolerating the stressful journey surprisingly well.

* * * * * * *

"Well, the sleepyheads are waking up." the man who spoke so cheerfully put down the cards he was holding and wheeled himself over to the bed, leaving Cullen holding a full house on a twenty-dollar pot knowing he wasn't going to get to play it.

Possibly the most frustrating thing that had happened to him in weeks.

But he didn't care, not one little bit. He stood and followed the man he knew as Stephen Ellers to the bed.

"Yeargh." Panther made a disgusted noise. Chief's body covered most of his and both of them were buried beneath multiple blankets, the lowest one being an electric set on high. "Get these off of me."

Stephen grinned and began pulling off layers, tossing them to the floor.

"How you feeling, big brother?" he asked, leaning his upper body onto the bed on his elbows.

"Like I was shot in the gut and haven't touched *him* in weeks."

"That's pretty close." the younger man agreed. All three of them watched with eager eyes as Chief stirred and his eyes opened as well. They were about a foot from Stephen's face.

"home?" he asked harshly.

"You've been home for nearly ten days." Cullen said softly, watching while Panther and his brother petted the tangled white hair.

Panther had been sedated that entire time, fed nutrition through an IV, catheterized. The semi-coma Chief had lapsed into had concerned Cullen, but the others seemed to take at as a matter of course, so he'd followed their lead, taking his turns gently waking the younger man, getting him sparsely fed and into the bathroom during the few minutes he would retain awareness before slipping away again. Cullen had, in fact, become rather good at it, getting a cup of thick vegetable soup into him and him in and out of the restroom in under ten minutes on several memorable occasions.

Now he stirred briefly and then snuggled closer to Panther with a sigh.

The older man glanced down at the top of his head, bringing one arm up to wrap around him and hold him as tightly as he could with his diminished strength.

"Okay, caro." he said softly. "I'll do it." Then he looked at Cullen. "We have some things to tell you."

Sitting carefully on the edge of the large bed, across from Stephen, Mike prepared himself for whatever they might say.

It was so much more than he'd expected.

* * * * * * *

"What are you trying to do, kill yourself?" Dr.Dan's irritated shout drew Stephen and Mike from their cheerful argument about the age limits set for Olympic competitors. In the living area that a large part of the suite of rooms that were Panther and Chief's here, they had been waiting for lunch while spending a little more time getting acquainted. The more time he spend with Stephen, the more impressed Cullen was.

Now both of them were moving for the door, fast, when Dan came out, his face thunderous.

"Talk to him."" he glared at Stephen. Tell him that *sex* should be the *last* thing on his mind right now!"

Feeling his own face blush heavily, Mike looked away from Stephen, but the man in the chair spoke with calm nonchalance.

"You know he doesn't want to do anything strenuous, Dan. We can keep an eye on them, make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"I'm late, I have to get back to the clinic." Dan looked distressed. "You'll call me if they get out of hand?"

"They'll be *fine*. He just needs to re-establish hat connection." Stephen spoke with such casual assurance that Mike felt himself staring. "I'll watch them. Mike will help." the look he gave Cullen was mocking. He obviously realized how uncomfortable this was making the ex-CIA Director.

"I'm holding you responsible if he hurts himself." Dan said roughly. It obviously made him uncomfortable as well. Turning away, he left before Cullen could think of anything else to say.

"Come on, let's go see how far they've gotten." Stephen turned his chair -- no electronic toy for this man, he was strong enough and self-reliant enough that he insisted on doing as much as he could for himself. Cullen knew that after only a few days around him.

And he knew that Stephen Ellers, as he had come to know him, was an open-minded, gregarious man who showed little shyness talking about personal issues. So he felt at least vaguely comfortable discussing his discomfort with him.

"You're going to just - go in there? While they're having sex?"

The look Stephen gave him was measuring, as if the younger man was deciding how much to share with him. He paused in his wheeling.

"When we first got out..." he took a deep breath and visibly gathered himself.

They both stopped and Mike sensed a coming revelation of tremendous importance.

Stephen released the breath slowly.

"It was horrible." He closed his eyes, as if he could see those days in his minds eye. "We didn't know where to go, who we could trust. Finally Jim broke down and called Simon, his old captain. You'll meet him, he's on his way here now. There were things he had to take care of before he could come."

Being careful to keep his face neutral, Mike filed that bit of information away.

He had no idea who this other confidante was.

"I was crippled, Blair was -- he was -- it took us two days just to figure it out." the blue eyes flashed open. "That he was blind. And I knew, as soon as Dan said it, that it was because of me. Because he came back for me, through the fire. The explosion was so bright...it burned his retinas."

There was guilt on his face, but pride as well. "He came back for me. Jim was -" he stopped, snapping his mouth shut in shock, realizing everything he had just said.

Mike was reeling.

Suddenly the large hallway seemed very small, tight and confined. He knew it was just shock, so he breathed through it and reached a hand to Stephen's shoulder as the other man stared at him. His expression clearly said : What have I done?!

"It's okay, Stephen. You should know by now that I will never hurt them. Blair trusted me and his trust is more precious than my life itself." even as he said the words his mind was still spinning.

Names.

They had *names*.

Names!

Normal, everyday-people-type names. He'd known James Ellison, of course, though he had never used it, or even thought of the man as anyone but Panther, but Chief!

He had a name. A name that suited him.

*Blair*.

Cullen liked it.

Thinking of them as Jim and Blair.... He was brought back to himself by Stephen's hand covering his and squeezing.

"Yes. Real people, aren't they. You have no idea how hard it is for me to think of them as Panther and Chief. Just tears my heart out."

Stephen took his hand away and starting wheeling slowly down the once-again normal-sized hall.

"He clung to Jim all the time. Didn't cry, didn't whine. Of course, he didn't speak. We counted it up once -- he went a total of two years, seven months and about ten days before he spoke again." he stopped the chair outside the door. "From the time we escaped. We never knew if that was because he couldn't or he wouldn't."

A sudden loving smile crossed his face.

"He spoke again, for the first time, the day we brought our daughter home from the hospital. And then he held her, and he cried."

Sitting in the chair across from the door, Mike waited for him to continue, but Stephen shook his head.

"We'll have time to talk. This will take a while. Let's check on them and be sure they're okay first."

Reluctantly Mike stood again. The door slid open with a push of a button and he followed Stephen into the room.

The living room was still and silent. The thick carpet hampered Stephen's chair and he struggled slightly but got across it to the bedroom.

It was washed with afternoon sunlight from the large window that looked out into the woods. The warm golden light picked up the iridescent accents in the ivory drapes, drawn back with pale blue ties, and the matching bedspread.

The effect haunting and made the man sitting up in the bed look all the more ethereal. What the light did for the curtains was trebled in his white hair, spread casually around him as he lay propped on pillows, studying Jim while the older man slept restlessly on his chest, petting him, touching him, soothing him while they waited. It was obvious that the wait was difficult.

White became silver, edged with gold. The thin body, the gaunt face and delicate hands were transformed, the appearance of an angel needing only draped white wings to be complete, the lace-edged duvet folded over them almost enough.

"Hey, Blair." Stephen rolled up close to the bed. "How ya doing?"

The angel shook its head. Long strands of hair were gripped in Jim's curled fists, but there was enough slack that it didn't pull.

"Is he awake?"

A nod.

"I'm awake." Panther's voice was deeper and harsher. "Dan interrupted us. That - that - I can't explain."

"I know. I told him I would take care of you. Me and Mike."

Now Jim's eyes opened. Still pale, barely able to sit for more than a few minutes at a time, he still looked dangerous. Absurdly so.

"It's okay, Jim, you know that. Blair said it was."

Mike watched the two men on the bed register this use of their names, and then he moved closer, to lean over Stephen's shoulder.

"I don't know what you need or why, but I'll help you get it." he promised. And, in his heart, he knew it didn't matter. He would do whatever it took to make them strong again.

Even if he had to hold Jim's dick and help him make love to Blair with his own two hands.

The uncontrolled rude thought made him blush faintly. Blair's cocked eyebrow indicated that he noticed the blush, but the younger man was far too involved with his partner to worry about Mike's sensibilities now.

"Tell me what you need." Stephen said quietly.

"Just time, and the stuff in the drawer." Panther tried to shrug, but the movement was diminished to a shiver that ran visibly over his skin.

"Jim, you can't even *move*." his brother protested softly.

"have to." the words hissed raw from Blair. "t-too long."

It was the first time Mike had heard him speak since they left the hospital. He had once thought that exposure to that ragged, pain-torn excuse for communication would make it sound better. He'd been wrong.

"I'll never claim to understand." Stephen was shaking his head, rolling himself across the room to the large bathroom, where he lifted himself to perch on the countertop and they could hear shuffling noises as he went through the medicine cabinet. When he reappeared they all saw the innocuous white jar sitting on his lap, wedged between his useless legs.

Setting it on the bed, just to Jim's side, he unscrewed the lid.

"We'll be in the next room, so you can call if anything happens. If he pulls a stitch or hurts himself." the last words were directed at Blair, who nodded.

Watching with fascination, Mike saw that the large blue eyes were already darkening, black pools widening around the ocean irises.

"Thanks, Stephen." though the words were strong, the voice that breathed them was not, and Cullen saw his own misgivings echoed on Stephen's face as they left the bedroom to take up positions in the living room.

They sat quietly for a few minutes before Stephen spoke.

"I can't watch, you know." his smile was crooked. "It's just too - too personal, being my brother and all.

"Is that why -?" gesturing, Mike indicated their seating arrangement. Stephen had wheeled to a stop beside the largest armchair, his back to the bedroom and Mike, to be able to converse with him, had reluctantly taken the sofa opposite.

Which gave him an excellent view of the bedroom, the bed, and the occupants of said bed.

Who were just lying there, in the same positions they had left them in.

Stephen nodded.

"You're not a part of the family...I know you've had to watch things that disgusted you before, in your line of work...." he trailed off, gaze apparently captured by a stray cobweb that blew gently in an unseen breeze, in a far corner.

"It's not disgusting." Mike said, almost startled to hear the words come from his mouth. It was just further proof of the impact Panther and Chief and their extraordinary lives had had on him. Before meeting them, he wouldn't have discriminated against a gay man, but the thought of what those men might do together in their bedroom would indeed have disgusted and nauseated him.

But this was Panther and Chief. Sex was as much a part of their unique bond as love...not exactly an equal part, but somehow as important.

"I've never seen anything like it before, of course. But I can retain my objectivity and watch, if you need me to."

On the bed Chief was sliding down, Panther's head still resting heavy on his chest, the motion making it bob gently. The blanket was pushed to their waists by elegant hands that hid their strength behind delicacy.

"They need you to." Stephen said. "They need us both. To be here if they need us, to accept this part of them, to bear witness to their love. Me because I love them and you because you want to."

Absorbing those words, Mike Cullen didn't argue. He just from his seat, reaching for the small round table that stood beside the sofa and the pack of cards that lay upon it.

"I'm watching." he cracked open the deck and began shuffling.

When Blair was flat on his back he lay and seemed to rest for a while. Then, carefully, he turned over, using his hands to gently slide Jim's head to the pillow.

Pressing close to his lover, he kissed him deeply. Mike saw the big arms come around him, hands still gripping fistfuls of the long white hair, using it to caress the smooth back as it curved into him, and then Blair was up on an elbow, reaching for the jar on the other side of Jim's body.

"What's in the jar?" the retired spy asked, making his opponent gape over the top of his poker hand.

"Um, lubricant. It's been too long, they'll need it..." with a shake of his head Stephen finally grinned. "Well, you're taking this very well."

"It's interesting." Mike said, pushing in a penny from the jar that stood on the floor to raise Stephen's opening bet of five. "One to you."

"Big money, I better be careful." Stephen's grin was holding on.

Blair kissed Jim's eyes, face, neck, and shoulders while his own shoulders moved and his back worked with the motions of his hands beneath the covers. Checking Jim's face for distress, Mike saw only blissful pleasure...eyes closed, head lolling back slightly, lips just parted.

He quickly lost sixteen cents to Stephen's three of a kind vs. his two pair.

"Maybe I should deal?" the man in the wheelchair teased, then chuckled when the deck was promptly handed over. "Everything okay?"

"As far as I can tell. Do you want details?"

"Hm." seeming to consider it for a moment, Stephen shook his head. "No, no thank you. You want to cut?" he offered the shuffled deck. Mike tapped the top thrice and turned his full attention back to the bedroom, and the bed.

Blair had turned over. Now his hands were behind himself and his eyes were closed too. There was a look on his face on intent concentration...Mike realized with a mild shock that he could still see both of Jim's hands. So Blair was doing something to *himself*...

"Too much information." he said suddenly, dropping his eyes to the cards on the table, waiting to be picked up. He arranged them, sighed at the rottenness of the hand, and bet three for the first go round.

When he glanced back up Blair was leaning back, head twisted on Jim's shoulder, and they were kissing again, looking as if they would eat each other alive, given half a chance.

Stephen won this pot too.

"You wanted me to watch so you could beat me at cards." he teased, although Stephen had won pretty much every time they had played. The man called Ellers was just a terrific card player. A talent, he claimed, developed during the long, frustrating and often painful days of bedrest he had suffered before physical therapy got him strong enough to get into the chair. He'd told Mike how he and Jim had pushed their beds together and played, Blair sleeping through almost everything, an unending semi-coma, his body plastered to Jim's, tormented by nightmares and unable to function, take care of himself. the total blindness combined with their ever-stronger mental connection had rendered him significantly vegetable-like for months. Until he got a handle on it.

Until, Mike knew, although he hadn't been told in so many words, he had figured out how to use their mental connection to use Jim's eyes.

Now Blair had one hand behind him and the other on the bed. he seemed to be bracing himself, pushing backwards. The expression on his beautiful thin face couldn't be interpreted as anything but pain, and Mike winced sympathetically.

"Everything okay?" Stephen was quick to ask as he dealt the two draw cards Mike needed.

"Seems to be. Not very - comfortable, I think." The words were awkward, but he didn't look away.

"I can't even imagine." Stephen's eyes met his and they exchanged a glance of mutual confusion; how could anyone *like* that?

When Mike looked back penetration had apparently been accomplished. Blair rested pressed to Jim, the big arms wrapped around him, his own arms wrapped around Jim's, his hair falling over both of them, that air of fragility back in force.

Mike saw them sigh in unison, and then they both closed their eyes and lay still.

"They should sleep now." Turning in his chair, Stephen followed Mike's gaze.

"Until they're ready to finish."

"How long will that be?"

"As long as it takes to re-establish all the connections. We found out pretty quick that they have to have a certain level of physical intimacy or Blair starts to lose it.

Jim, too, even if his breakdown isn't as obvious."

"Tell me about it." the cards lay on the table, forgotten, as Stephen told a story, adding another piece to the picture Mike was building in his head.

"My brother's always had a temper. It always surprised me, after we got to know each other again, that they only person it was never directed at was Blair. Even at his angriest Jim would listen to him, respond to him. Now Blair's the only control he has." Stephen talked and Mike watched the sleeping faces. the roar or rage he'd once heard from Jim's lips was vividly remembered. "When he's separated from Blair -- I mean forcibly, not when they've done it on their own -- it all just pours out. The rage was what got them into their line of work. He needed an outlet for it because Blair can't just keep sucking it up..."

Mike listened, it seemed for hours, before they both succumbed to exhaustion and dozed off in their respective locations.

Waking sometime later, he heard a soft sound of distress. Stephen was still asleep, lurched sideways in his chair, but Mike didn't stop to make him more comfortable, just dashed into the bedroom as quietly as he could.

"What is it?" he whispered, finding Blair's eyes wide and blank in the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand.

A small shake of his head - Blair couldn't answer. Mike noticed just as quickly that he wasn't seeing, either, as he stared past Mike himself and at the wall.

"Jim's not awake. Something's wrong." Stephen said from his side, passing him to the bed. "Call Dan."

Unwilling to leave them but knowing that Stephen knew what to do better than he did, Mike used the intercom on the wall, waking Stephen's wife, who promised to get Dan there as soon as she could.

Stephen was hitching himself on to the bed, using Jim's arms to pull himself up.

It struck Mike as odd that they would be so stiff, not relaxed in sleep and he was suddenly terrified that the man had died in his sleep. But Blair's apparent health eased that fear, as sudden as it was.

"I think he's having a nightmare." Stephen said, shaking his brother's shoulder.

Caught in the bigger man's grip, the smaller could only nod frantically, hair tangling and getting into his eyes.

And that man's cock is still stuffed inside this man's ass. Like neon the thought blazed through Mike's mind, making his head hurt. But he found the right answer to his own outraged morals.

So what!

Stephen didn't have much leverage and Blair was making a louder noise, clearly upset. He was probably sharing the nightmare, Mike thought, going around the bed and giving Jim a hard, sharp shake. He opened his mouth and Stephen's hand covered it.

"We'll disrupt their communication if we talk to him now."

Nodding, Mike tried harder to wake the big mercenary.

With a deep gasp the big man half rose from the bed, Blair releasing a short wail, and then collapsed back onto it. Then Dan was in the room and he and Stephen were being shooed out.

Coming out of the bedroom a few minutes later Dan was rolling his eyes.

"Nightmares. I get called out of my bed for nightmares." but there was no real annoyance in his voice. More relief than anything else. "Why don't you get some sleep? Jim promised me that that's all he and Blair will be doing tonight."

"I don't want to get into bed just to have to go through the hassle of getting up again." Stephen shrugged.

"As your personal physician, I'm telling you to go to bed." Dan was stern. "And don't get up for at least eight hours."

"I'll sleep here on the sofa." Mike said. "They can shout at me if they need anything, and I'll hear it if something goes wrong."

"That would be okay. Thanks." with no more than that Stephen left the room, which just proved how tired he was. Dan followed soon after.

Lying down, on his back, head pillowed on the well-cushioned arm of the sofa, Mike turned his head to watch the two men in the other room. As they had promised, they were lying quietly, eyes closed.

But soon Jim's hand began to move over Blair's torso. It stroked, running fingertips lightly through the thick chest hair, and paused to rub harder at first one nipple and then the other.

The smaller man shivered, strong enough for Mike to see it, and a low moan floated from his mouth as it dropped open.

The hand plucked at the nipples and then rolled them tenderly.

Blair began to move. At first Mike thought he was imagining the gentle rocking motion, but it soon increased.

Jim's head dropped and he sucked at Blair's neck where it became his shoulder and now the moans were louder.

They certainly weren't sleeping. Briefly Mike wondered what he should do.

Watch them and be sure they didn't hurt themselves.

Okay, he could do that.

There was more to it than he'd thought, this manlove. After many long minutes of watching, admiring the expressions on their faces as emotions and sensations played over them, he was just plain fascinated.

Blair's face was open, easy, mobile. The expressions flowed over it like water, one taking shape before the last had left, flowing with the fluidity of mercury. He made little panting sounds, the only noise Mike had heard from him that sounded completely normal. In love, it seemed, even Panther softened. The soft words he whispered weren't clear, but the tone was plain; loving and thankful. His hands continued to travel the smaller body, stroking all over it, looking so large when they caressed the smooth column of throat, fingers splayed across the shoulder as he gripped gently and bit harder at the neck, then up to cup and caress the angle of jaw and the shifting face.

It was so wondrous that Mike almost forgot his main reason for watching. It wasn't until the movement sped up that he remembered fully and the he felt the need to say something. Jim's torso was currently held together mostly by a hundred or so staples and uncountable numbers of stitches beneath that top layer....

"Slow down, guys." he called the words softly, not wanting to startle them. Jim's eyes flashed open, focused on him, and then closed again.

And the movement began to slow. Eventually it came to a full stop, and Blair's harsh panting filled every ear.

When it seemed he would never take a full breath again they moved.

But this time it was Blair doing the rocking, Blair controlling the motion of the bodies, the rhythm of their lovemaking. This was fine with Mike, the less Jim did the less chance there was that he would hurt himself.

The end came quickly. Blair moved more roughly, with more force than Jim had, and Mike was considering another warning when both of Jim's hands vanished beneath the sheet and Blair cried out softly, arching backwards, and Jim grimaced, his face twisting into a parody of pain, and then they both lay still.

Mike turned his head away, giving them a chance to recover in privacy before he went in to check on them.

"Cullen."

The voice woke him from the light doze he'd fallen into. On his feet in seconds, he was next to the bed in less than a minute, leaning over, worry in his mind and on his face.

"Could you - get us a warm cloth, please? I can't leave him yet and he wants to get clean."

"Of course." he was back quickly, after running a washcloth under the hot water.

The trip back into the room hadn't cooled it much and Jim winced as he took it.

"Sorry!" Mike said as he realized what he'd done.

"It's just up really high right now." Jim said, pushing the covers down nonchalantly. Mike stared, unable to look away, and then decided that there was something else he could be doing.

Jim was gently washing Blair's belly and genitals, the smaller man making more little noises, these could only be described as satisfied, and Mike lay his hand on Jim's ribcage slowly.

The man looked up at him, anger lurking in his pale eyes, once again cold.

"Let me check your stitches, Jim." he used the name deliberately. "Just to be sure you didn't pull anything loose."

"Alright." it was said grudgingly, but he lay back as far as he could without withdrawing from Blair and Mike bent over him. "I wouldn't feel pain right now if I were bleeding to death."

"I've been there." letting a grin cross his face, Mike continued his inspection, trying very hard to ignore the situation that lingered inches from his carefully exploring hand. "I don't feel any blood....What does Blair say?"

"Blair's not exactly communicating right now." the words were softer, friendly again, perhaps a tad embarrassed. Mike noted the big hand that nervously kneaded the blanket bunched at Blair's thighs.

He wanted to take a look. Just one. Just to see.

So he did. Dropping his eyes past the last line of medical staples, Mike let himself see. It was a sight to send a heterosexual man screaming into the night.

Jim's dick was still hard. Round and red, over half of it was stuck firmly between the pale globes of Chief's rounded ass. Those globes prevented Mike from seeing the actual entrance, but he decided that this was quite enough.

"Do you need anything else?" he said, straightening and helping Jim rearrange the covers, tucking them warmly around both men.

The soiled washcloth was offered and he took it without even a grimace.

"You should both be able to rest now, right? Everything is the way it should be?" of its own accord Mike's hand reached out and stroked Blair's hair back from his face with the same tenderness he would have shown his own child.

Jim nodded and Mike's hand slid over to run fingers through his short hair, giving him the same treatment.

It didn't surprise him when Jim closed his eyes and sighed, leaning slightly into the touch.

He was just barely old enough to have been this man's father, if he'd been very young and very stupid at the time...

Settling on the bed beside them, Mike spent the rest of the night alternately stroking Blair's hair, and then Jim's.

They slept deeply and peacefully.

* * * * * * *

"Uncle Blair! Uncle Jim! Wake up, wake up!"

Sitting up in the big bed, Blair grinned widely as the twin tornadoes hit him mid-chest, followed closely by tropical storm Nita.

Not saying a word, he tussled with them until they were all giggling madly and Panther woke, looking grumpy.

The elemental attacks were followed into the room by Stephen and Simon and the rest of the family.

Hanging back by the door, Mike Cullen watched with wide, wondering eyes.

It wasn't the room, although that was marvelous to look at, huge and luxurious, just one apartment in a huge house, set on an estate somewhere in New England.

He'd never asked exactly where -- if he really wanted to know all he would have to do is watch the local newscast on the large TV in the room he'd been given.

It was the warmth and love and happiness that filled it.

That joy started, doubtless, with the three children, aged five, six, and eight.

Their legal father was the man in the wheelchair, Panther - Jim's brother Stephen.

He'd been injured in the fire at the research center. Chief -- Mike still had to remind himself constantly to use their real names -- *Blair* -- had lost his sight when he pulled Stephen from that fire, both of them caught in the explosion that followed.

Yes, the fire had been Jim's fault. He'd set a small one to trigger the alarms and give them a chance to escape. He'd had no way of knowing that they were also illegally storing volatile chemicals and that the sprinkler systems had been cut off.

Telling Mike that story, he'd held on to Blair so tightly Stephen had reached over and, with a grin, loosened his grip, drawing a laugh from the rest of the audience.

Since the spinal injury had made Stephen sterile, the biological father of these children was Jim. They carried the genes that Panther and Chief had almost died for.

Jacob and Jordan were the two little boys, less than a year between them. Nita was already tall and thin at eight years, and completely a tomboy. Not at all like the only other little girl Mike had known, his own daughter Sarah.

After living here for two weeks he felt more strongly than ever that he was meant to protect these people.

Blair looked up from his child--torture and beamed at Mike, looking past the others in the room to meet his eyes alone and welcome him.

"What?" Jim asked gruffly.

Plopping down on the side of the bed and fluffing his pillows in a way that she knew irritated him, Stephen's wife, Wanda, teased.

"We're tired of waiting on you hand and foot."

Although the police and the FBI had all assumed Stephen was dead when he was gone so long, tying the disappearances to Jim and Blair's, she had kept the faith all those long months and welcomed her husband back with joy and enough determination to help him through the grueling months of recovery. The burns on his face would always be visible, but the love in his eyes made them hard to see.

The other man in the room was the one that made Mike nervous. Simon Banks, formerly of the Cascade PD, father of the young FBI agent that had tried to talk him out of following the lead he he'd had that once. As it turned out, they had known all along that he was hunting them and allowed him to play it out. A test, one that he had passed when he didn't reveal them to Anderson. A test that had resulted into his admission to this private circle.

"Just let me up and I'll wait on myself." growling -- which Mike now knew was only partially for show -- Jim sat, wincing as he pulled his stitches. Immediately Blair had a hand on his shoulder and the expression cleared. "I'm fine, caro. Help me up?"

Rolling to the floor, Blair gave Jim his shoulder. The kids got out of the way quickly, the youngest climbing into his father's lap and giggling.

"You're wobbly, Uncle Jim." he informed the large man.

"And you're impertinent, Jacob Ellers." the name came from his mouth with the ease of long practice. None of them had used their real names in nearly ten years.

These were the names the children had ben born to.

Blair helped Jim into the bathroom, to a loud round of applause, and then the people began moving toward the large kitchen for breakfast.

Walking through the house, eying pictures and mementos, Mike felt comfortable.

He'd wondered once what Panther and Chief did with their earnings. As one of the top mercenary teams in the world, they could earn huge chunks of money. He'd heard a rumor, from a *very* reliable source, that they'd been paid two million for the assassination of Franklin. But they never seemed to live the way millionaires did. Even if they were tracking most of it into charities, which Mike could see, given their backgrounds, there was only so much of that you could do before you got noticed.

Now he knew. Besides the cabin and the acreage surrounding it, there was a beachhouse in Florida that Simon kept, and they supported Stephen and his family here, in what had to be the heart of the extended family, as well as maintaining the free clinic Dr.Dan ran in the nearest big city. The clinic he had abandoned to stay here and treat Jim, who was no longer critically ill. Hurt and sore and going to be taking it easy for another couple of months...but clearly on the mend.

So what was Mike still doing there?

Basically, he thought, as he sat at the table and indulged in Wanda's excellent cooking, piling his plate with eggs and sausages and biscuits fresh from the over, he was goofing off.

He couldn't maintain this contact with them. Couldn't stay a part of their lives; call on Sundays, visit on the occasional weekend. That would put them at too much risk.

So he was soaking it up, as much of it as he could, to take back home with him.

"I drew you a picture, Mike!" the children had only been told his first name, so they wouldn't inadvertently make any slips. Holding up the sheet of sketch paper, she waited for his praise.

It was quick coming. Recognizing the swimming pool out back, he knew the oddly-colored person-figure falling into the water must be him, after he'd tried a cannonball the day before and made an idiot of himself. Blair had laughed so hard tears had run from his eyes and Jim, wrapped warmly and outside for the first time, had held onto his lover and fought the laughter down because it hurt too much.

"It's beautiful, sweetheart! he enthused. "Don't I look silly falling into the pool like that?"

"You made a big splash and a silly noise." she agreed, leaving the picture with him and going to her seat at the large table.

After breakfast Wanda gathered the kids to get them to the private school they all attended in town. The house was full of early risers, though Mike had been amused to find that Blair liked to sleep in.

Watching him help Jordan pack his backpack with the action figures he'd chosen to take for show-and-tell, Mike smiled. Seeing the younger man moving so easily, so freely, without the fear of an accidental touch, was a revelation. Yes, Chief was beautiful -- his very aloofness, the untouchable quality, had enhanced that beauty, magnified it.

Here, now, Blair was still very attractive. Pretty, still beautiful. But it was a whole different quality of beauty. No longer a renaissance angel, just a beautiful man that laughed and cried and argued with everyone else in his life.

Yes, argued. When Mike had brought up a point during an after-dinner boy's-club type meeting in the large den, Blair had disagreed vehemently. The sound of his hand slapping down on the coffee table in protest had shocked Mike, but the others had taken it in stride and looked expectantly at Jim, who had relayed his partner's comments. Finding himself in a strange three-way clash, as Blair gestured rapidly and Jim both spoke his words and added his own, Mike had finally given up, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation as the onlookers did as well.

This was better than what they'd had in the cabin, Mike decided as each child ran to hug the kneeling Blair, who squeezed them tightly and added a tickle to Nita's.

She ran out the door, sticking her tongue out at him as she went.

Although their love had been clear there, here it was magnified by the love they shared with the people around them.

Even, Mike realized with a startled half-smile as Blair gave him that knowing glance, cocking an eyebrow at him, himself.

If he never saw them again, he would always be a part of their family. A part of this fantastic secret.

~ finis ~


End file.
